


The Forked Road

by Miss_Snazzy



Series: The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel [4]
Category: Supernatural, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bella angsts over Edward, Confessions, Crossover, F/M, Hunting, New Moon AU, Obnoxious Flirting, Original Character Death(s), Slow Build, Supernatural: Season 3 AU, Vampire Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:00:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Snazzy/pseuds/Miss_Snazzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trio investigate a couple of freak accidents, while attempting to stop a potential third. Meanwhile, Bella deals with the aftermath of the brothers learning the full extent of her past with vampires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Rosedale, Mississippi**

I started awake, blinking rapidly to dislodge the sleep from my eyes. I was shocked to find Dean towering over me. For a brief moment, I wondered if he had thoughtfully awoken me from another nightmare, but quickly dispelled that thought once I recalled what had transpired yesterday.

"Time to get up. We've gotta hit the road," Dean grumbled before quickly turning away.

I sat up, watching him move around the room with furrowed brows.

"Where are we going?" I rasped, my throat still sore from sleep.

"Rosedale, Mississippi," Dean muttered.

"Mississippi?" I repeated, incredulously.

"We got a call about some strange deaths," Sam explained, stepping out of the bathroom.

I glanced around the room, noting their packed bags resting on Sam's bed. I swept my hair out of my face and slowly disentangled myself from the sheets.

"What about Victoria?" I asked, hesitatingly.

"We've got bigger fish to fry," Dean smirked.

I tried not to frown at how dismissive he was of Victoria.

"She still hasn't made a move, so it's safe to assume that she's biding her time," Sam added. "Vampires are notorious for taking their time and since there haven't been anymore disappearances...there's no reason for us to stick around and wait."

I nodded slowly in understanding of Sam's reasoning, even if I was a little nervous. It had been over a week since we left Forks, but this would be the first time I had left Washington with the brothers. I wasn't necessarily worried about travelling across the country with them, but there was a sense of finality about allowing so much distance.

There wasn't a risk of running into Jacob or anyone else I knew there and it was extremely unlikely that Charlie's reach extended so far. I didn't have to worry about being noticed and that realization was rather comforting, to be honest. As easy as it was to fade into the background in Spokane and Kennewick, it would be even more so in Mississippi.

I gathered my things and changed quickly, ready to move onto our next adventure. Strangely enough, the idea of investigating a couple of murders actually sounded refreshing. I wasn't lying when I told Jacob that helping the brothers gave me a sense of purpose and after everything that had been revealed yesterday, I was looking forward to a distraction.

I slid into the back of the impala, watching Dean jog up to the main office to return our keys. I glanced at Sam in the rearview mirror, having felt his gaze. He smiled reassuringly, whether in response to the new case or my breakdown last night, I didn't know. Regardless of the reason, I tentatively returned it.

My smile fell when Dean jerked open the door to the driver's side, shooting a terse look at me as he took his seat. I sunk further into mine, staring down at my lap.

...

An hour had passed since we left Kennewick and in that time, it had been mostly silent in the car, barring the radio. While Sam sifted through the journal, Dean sang along to his music. I kept my gaze resolutely directed out of the window, determined not to react to the increasingly louder noise.

"You think you can turn that down?" Sam asked.

"No can do, Sammy," Dean replied, air-drumming.

The sound abruptly lowered, much to my relief.

"Hey! Hands off."

I clenched my eyes shut as the music once again resumed its blaring volume and winced as it became even louder. As much as I was grateful for Sam's interference, I was beginning to wonder if I would have been better off if he hadn't said anything.

" _Dean_ , I can't concentrate."

"Yeah right," Dean scoffed. "You just want me to turn it down because _Bella_ hates music."

"I don't hate music," I muttered, though I doubted that either of them had heard me.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

I sighed, pressing my forehead against the glass as the brothers continued to bicker. Ordinarily, their jabs at each other were rather entertaining, but between the loud music and my exhausting breakdown last night, I was beginning to get a headache.

I shut my eyes, willing the pounding to stop.

...

I jerked awake, cringing as I registered the music that was pumping through the speakers. I struggled to remember when I had fallen asleep and was relieved when Sam turned the radio down.

"Was that necessary?" Sam snapped.

Dean only shrugged in reply. I huffed out a breath, wondering how long I would be the target of Dean's childish behavior. I couldn't decide what was worse—the enforced distance or his annoying pranks.

"We're thinking about stopping for some food. You hungry?" Sam asked.

I took a moment to assess my stomach contents and nodded when I felt a confirming pang of hunger. I watched Dean's hands as he turned the wheel to take the next exit and glanced outside, wondering how long I had been asleep.

"How long was I out?" I rasped.

I tried to clear my throat and grimaced at the dry ache. I wondered if all of the tears I had shed the night before had left me dehydrated.

"About four hours," Sam supplied.

"Oh."

I didn't know how long it would take to drive from Washington to Mississippi, but I didn't need to be a geography expert to know that it was going to take a while. I opened my mouth to ask, but hesitated, wondering if I should. I was curious, but I didn't want it to sound like I was complaining.

I sighed in frustration, hating how I was always second-guessing myself. I should be able to ask a generic question without worrying about how they would react. It wasn't like they were going to leave me on the side of the road for asking something so simple and mundane—the token question of any road trip.

"So...how long till we get to Mississippi?" I finally asked.

Sam glanced at me over his shoulder.

"About thirty hours, give or take."

I nodded, quirking a brief smile in thanks. I felt ridiculous for worrying at all.

"If you're gonna start complaining—"

"I'm not complaining!" I protested quickly, cutting Dean off.

Dean rolled his eyes, but thankfully didn't comment further.

...

I followed Sam and Dean into the diner, grunting as the door swung back and hit me in the arm. I had been too preoccupied with reading one of the specials they had posted to pay attention. I realized with a start that I had unconsciously gotten used to the brothers holding doors open for me and had apparently come to expect it.

I looked ahead, noting that Dean was behind Sam and had obviously been the one to send the door careening back into me. I frowned for a moment, pushing the heavy door open myself and nearly jogging to catch up as they were led to a table.

Dean was already sitting on one side of the booth, but Sam was standing patiently beside the other. Considering how Dean had been acting recently, I was grateful for Sam's offer. I quickly slid next to the wall.

"Thanks," I told Sam quietly, to which he simply nodded.

I glanced through the menu and although some of their dishes sounded interesting, I decided to go with a classic burger. After my poor experience at one of the diners in Kennewick, I realized there was a reason Dean seemed to always order that. I had better luck getting a good burger than anything else.

"And how would you like that cooked?" the waiter asked politely after I had given him my order.

"Medium is fine, thanks."

"You sure you wouldn't rather have it rare?" Dean interjected. "What's that you always say? _The bloodier, the better?_ "

The waiter paused in his scribbling of my order, glancing uncertainly between us. I rolled my eyes at Dean's behavior and the fact that the waiter was actually considering changing _my_ order based on what someone _else_ had said.

"Medium, please," I insisted.

"Alright, and I'll be right back with a refill on that Coke," the waiter said before walking off.

I rubbed my temples and exhaled, determined not to let Dean get to me.

"Surprised you didn't order a glass of tomato juice."

"What?"

"Isn't that what you vampire groupies do? Sit around pretending to drink blood out of wine glasses?"

I glared at Dean.

"I'm not a vampire groupie," I bit out.

"If the false fangs fit..." Dean sneered.

"Vampires don't have fangs," I said matter-of-factly, trying to mask my growing agitation with triumph.

"Oh right. You like the pale, sparkly ones. Well, you've almost got the pale part down. We can stop at a drugstore to get you some body glitter and you'll be set," Dean smirked.

"Dean, knock it off," Sam snapped.

Dean, surprisingly did stop, but that self-satisfied smirk remained. I spent the next fifteen minutes scowling down at my cutlery, resisting the urge to kick him under the table.

...

We had been on the road for another four or five hours and it was beginning to get dark. I kept my gaze directed out of the window for the most part, trying to drown out the music with my own thoughts. Of course, they were hardly better, but I didn't have many options.

Once again, I vowed to get myself some sort of activities book the next time we stopped—anything to disrupt the monotony of long drives like these. Ordinarily, they weren't so bad, but Dean seemed determined to sour the experience.

I sighed to myself, wondering if I was being unfair. After all, weren't Dean's sarcastic comments just a part of his charm? I nearly scoffed aloud—it wasn't hard to figure out why I wasn't feeling particularly appreciative of Dean's sense of humor lately.

All of his jokes today were more like jabs—intending to wound. Nearly all of them revolved around vampires in some way and the continuous referencing of my relationship with Edward was keeping him resolutely at the forefront of my thoughts.

I didn't want to think about him. I didn't want to obsess over everything I once had—everything that I had lost. It was frustrating and just plain painful every time Dean threw him in my face.

Not for the first time, I was grateful that I hadn't met the brothers sooner because I couldn't imagine how devastating Dean's comments would have been in those early days after I had lost Edward.

...

I wasn't sure what time it was, but it was dark the next time we stopped. Rather than go through the whole diner experience this time, Dean decided to stop at a gas station. I was a little skeptical of their _fresh_ food, but I did grab some snacks and a drink.

I even managed to find a book of crossword puzzles, though I realized it was kind of pointless now that it was dark. Still, I figured they would come in handy tomorrow.

I strolled down the aisles, absently surveying the shelves. I was grateful for the respite from the car, relishing the ability to stand and stretch my legs. After a few minutes of mindless perusal, I moved toward the counter where Sam and Dean were waiting to make their purchases.

"Dean, don't you think you should go a little easier on her?" Sam was saying quietly. "I mean, she's obviously going through a tough time—"

"So? We're _Hunters_. Our job is to protect her from a bloodsucker. We're not here to coddle her."

I quickly turned and darted down another aisle, wishing that I hadn't overheard their conversation. I spent a few minutes staring unseeingly at their selection of gum, until Dean called for me to hurry up. I approached the counter slowly and paid for my things, keeping my gaze resolutely averted from Dean as I followed them out of the store.

...

Several hours had passed since our pit stop at the gas station, but I still couldn't seem to get Dean's words out of my head. I couldn't decide what bothered me more—that Dean thought the opposite of coddling someone was being a _jerk_ , or Sam's perception of me.

I appreciated that Sam had tried to stick up for me, but I hated that he felt the need to do so. I shouldn't need him to fight my battles, even if Dean was being a little cruel. I didn't want either of them to see me as some defenseless little girl who couldn't handle herself.

I reclined a bit further, feeling a little awkward to be sitting in the passenger seat. The brothers had decided to switch places to give Dean some time to rest and I had opted out of mine so that he could have more room.

"So...what are we up against in Rosedale?" I asked, both curious and looking for a distraction.

"Not sure. Last time it was a Demon, but I don't think that's what's happening now."

"A Demon?" I repeated, curiously.

We had faced ghosts and a witch so far, but this would be my first encounter with a Demon. I felt both intrigued and apprehensive of that, considering the fact that, well, it was a _Demon_. I didn't have to be an expert on the occult to gather that there would be quite a bit of danger if we did run into one.

Sam glanced over at me quickly, before returning his gaze to the road.

"Yeah, but the victims this time are dying from what seem to be freak accidents."

"Oh... What kind of accidents?"

"The first victim, Johnny Sheafing, was crushed by a piano."

I raised an eyebrow at that.

"Yeah, that's definitely an odd way to die," I acknowledged. "But what makes you think there was something supernatural involved?" I wondered.

I mean, sure, things like that usually only happened in _Bugs Bunny_ cartoons, but it was possible, wasn't it?

"Johnny Sheafing was a very skilled pianist—one that seemed to come out of nowhere. He had just finished performing a concert in his hometown when he was killed."

"That's...an interesting coincidence," I mused slowly.

"The second victim, Cecile Frost, was a popular hair stylist. Apparently, her curling iron got caught in her hair and burned her neck."

"How's that a freak accident? Doesn't that happen to girls all of the time?" I asked, recalling when Renee used to do my hair.

I had received my fair share of burn marks from Renee when her attention would waver in the middle of the task.

"When they found her, the curling iron was about halfway through her neck."

"Okay, I see what you mean," I replied with a grimace. "So...if not a Demon, then what? Another witch like Gretchen?"

Johnny and Cecile's deaths were really strange—suspiciously so—as if they were tailored especially for them. It reminded me of Gretchen's obsession with fairytales and how each one suited her victims in a particular way.

"I don't know. Could be," Sam acknowledged. "Or something else."

I hummed in agreement, staring out of the dark window as I let my thoughts wander. Sam continued to drive in silence for several minutes, seeming preoccupied too. I glanced over my shoulder, noting that Dean was still asleep.

"Bella, I'm sorry for how Dean's been acting today," Sam said suddenly.

I turned to meet Sam's gaze, a little thrown by the abrupt subject change.

"It's fine," I mumbled, unable to stop myself from recalling the conversation I had overheard earlier.

"No, it's really not," Sam argued with a sigh. "Just...try not to let him get to you. Dean can't help but be a jerk, sometimes."

I smiled at Sam's assessment of his brother and decided that I would try to follow his advice.

...

It was nearly daylight the next time I awoke and it took me a moment to get my bearings. My body felt a little sore from sleeping in the car and my mouth didn't taste too great. I hoped Sam was planning on stopping sometime soon, if only just to give me a chance to relieve myself. I figured I could probably brush my teeth in there too, while I was at it.

"What time is it?" I rasped, clearing my throat.

"About a quarter after six," Dean answered gruffly from beside me, much to my surprise.

I glanced in the backseat, realizing that Sam and Dean must have stopped and switched seats at some point. Sam blinked his eyes open when he felt my gaze, obviously tired, but very much awake. I wondered why they hadn't woken me to switch seats, but decided not to ask.

I rubbed my eyes, cleaning away the last remnants of sleep. After a few minutes of mindlessly staring out of the window, I began to squirm in my seat. I was just about to break the silence and ask Dean to stop somewhere when he abruptly took an exit.

I sighed in relief, chewing on my lip as I continued to hold my bladder. When Dean finally pulled into a gas station, I all but ran inside to get the key, making sure to pocket my toothbrush and toothpaste beforehand.

The bathroom was pretty disgusting—no surprise there—but I was grateful nonetheless when I emerged with an empty bladder and a clean mouth. I glanced toward the Impala on my way back inside, noting that Dean was pumping gas.

When I entered, I returned the key to the guy at the main counter and thanked him with a blush, embarrassed for my urgent behavior before. The man smiled in understanding, thankfully choosing not comment.

I walked over to where Sam was hovering next to the coffee machine and grabbed myself a cup. Sam smiled through a yawn and although I returned it, I found myself worrying about his sleeping habits. I knew that I was hardly the person to pass judgment, but my personal experience with sleep deprivation was part of what made me concerned.

I didn't want to press though, so I decided not to comment. After all, for all I knew, Sam and Dean might've switched seats hours ago, affording him ample time to catch some rest.

I grabbed a donut and followed Sam up to the counter. I tried to protest when he added my things to his purchase, but he only smiled in reply. I huffed in annoyance because although I appreciated the gesture, I didn't like being a burden on their bank accounts.

Sam handed me my coffee and donut, holding the door open with his back to allow me to pass.

"You know...you guys don't have to pay for everything. I mean, you really shouldn't have to," I said, deciding that it would be best to broach the subject before we rejoined Dean.

"Don't worry about it," Sam replied simply.

"No really," I insisted, not liking the way he was dismissing my offer. "I have money..."

I knew that my money would eventually run out, but I didn't want to take advantage of the brothers' generosity. I had been too preoccupied to bring it up before—what with ghosts, witches, and vampires on my mind—but if I was going to be travelling with them for a while, then I wanted to pull my own weight.

"Seriously Bella, don't worry about it," Sam reiterated, leveling me with a look. "We have enough to cover everything."

I kind of doubted that because after only two cases, I already had a good sense about how lucrative the hunting business really was.

"But that's not the point—"

"Look," Sam cut me off as we reached the Impala.

I watched him set the coffee and donuts on the hood before reaching into his wallet and pulling out a credit card. I opened my mouth to protest—whatever he was doing—but paused when he pointed to the name printed on the card.

"Jimmy Page," I read aloud. I furrowed my brows and for a moment, I wondered if Sam and Dean had lied about their names before it all clicked. "Credit card fraud?" I said incredulously.

Sam shrugged, though his expression was a little sheepish.

"Obviously," Dean remarked as he swiped his cup of coffee and donut off of the hood. "Not like we get paid to save people's lives."

"Right," I conceded, though I couldn't help feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea.

...

"I need an eight-letter word for a popular television doctor," I announced, staring down at my crosswords book.

It was nice to have something to keep my mind occupied with and I think the brothers were feeling much the same. Although Dean had been a little distant and refrained from joining in, he hadn't been throwing more of those sarcastic jabs my way, so I figured that was progress.

I glanced up when Sam didn't respond right away and wondered if I had finally stumped him. His face was scrunched up as he struggled to come up with an answer.

"I have no idea," Sam finally sighed.

"I don't either," I admitted. "I don't watch much TV."

I stared back down at the crossword puzzle, chewing on my lip in thought. There were already a few letters filled in courtesy of some of the other answers, but I still couldn't make sense of it. I looked back up when Dean grumbled something.

"What?" I asked, surprised to hear him speak after being silent for so long.

"It's Dr. Sexy MD," Dean repeated a little louder.

I looked back down at the crossword puzzle and started filling in the letters.

"It fits," I confirmed, raising my eyebrows. "What's Dr. Sexy MD?"

"A TV show," Dean replied, rolling his eyes.

"A TV show _you_ watch," Sam snorted.

I tried to stifle a laugh as Dean shot him a glare.

...

I pressed my cheek against the cool glass, willing away my headache. I should have known better than to work on those crosswords for so long. I was beginning to get a little tired of being cooped up in the car, but I tried not to let it show. I didn't want the brothers to think that I couldn't handle this aspect of their lives.

I was glad when Dean decided to stop again for lunch, giving me the chance to use the bathroom as well as stretch my legs. After relieving myself—coffee actually probably hadn't been a good idea—and washing my hands, I splashed some cold water on my face.

I sighed in relief as my headache began to dissipate and quickly dabbed my face dry before seeking out the brothers. I stepped outside, sweeping my gaze across the parking lot in search of the Impala. My stomach dropped when I realized that it wasn't there.

I was beginning to panic, even as I tried to reassure myself that they wouldn't just leave me here. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my breathing. I couldn't help remembering the night Edward left and how prior to that, I hadn't thought he would leave me, either.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Dean suddenly appeared at my side.

"Here's your food," he grunted, thrusting a bag and drink into my hands.

I stared up at him in wide-eyed surprise, but followed reflexively as he walked away. My heart lurched when he turned the corner of the building and I rushed to catch up as the panic, which had numbed from the shock of his sudden presence, returned.

I exhaled shakily when I spotted the Impala parked only a few feet away. However, once the relief wore off, the embarrassment kicked in. My face grew hot and the shame nearly overwhelmed me as I slowly made my way to the car.

I couldn't believe how much I had overreacted. I should have know that the brothers wouldn't just disappear on me, regardless of Edward's abandonment. I hated myself a little for immediately jumping to conclusions and constantly worrying that the brothers would eventually take a page out of Edward's book and leave.

Apart from the pain, it was just tiring to go through such emotional extremes for no reason.

I took my seat in the back, grateful when the brothers were mostly silent as they ate. I didn't feel much like talking right now and my appetite had nearly disappeared during my little panic attack. It had been a while since I had eaten though, so I resolved myself to force the food down.

...

It was dark when we finally made it to Rosedale, Mississippi. Despite spending nearly two days in the car, I was exhausted. I followed the brothers sluggishly into the main office of one of the motels, hoping that stopping for coffee was next on the agenda. If the brothers planned to start investigating tonight, I knew I would need something to perk me up.

"How many rooms?" the brunette behind the counter asked, glancing over Dean's shoulder to Sam and I.

"Two rooms," Dean replied quickly, leaning against the counter. "One for my brother and _sister_ and the other for me."

I frowned at the back of Dean's head, more than a little perturbed that he had called me his sister. It was annoying enough that he didn't want to be in the same room as me, but did he really have to lie about our relationship to each other?

It was obvious from the flirtatious smirk on his face that he wanted the woman behind the counter to know that he was single. Although we weren't _like that_ , I couldn't help feeling like I had been rejected—pushed aside for someone _better_.

I scowled at the floor as the woman smiled back and tried to tune out their conversation. I was grateful when the woman finally handed over the keys. I quickly stalked out of the office to head to the room I would be sharing with Sam.

Sam jogged to catch up with me, but slowed to match my pace. He, thankfully, didn't comment on my abrupt exit.

...

After eating a quick dinner—and consuming enough caffeine to keep me going—we reconvened in Dean's room. I was surprised to find that the woman had given us adjoining rooms, considering the way she smiled at Dean. I supposed that it didn't matter to her as Dean had been clear enough on where we stood for her to know that I wasn't any competition—not that I would have been otherwise.

"We sure these aren't more deals comin' up for collection?" Dean asked. "Any calls about black dogs?"

"Already checked. No calls about any dogs—black or otherwise—and the victims have only been successful for the last five years or so."

"So probably not the Crossroads Demon," Dean mused. "Unless she's changed her usual offer."

While I had been more or less lost up until this point, everything suddenly clicked then. Recalling the entry I had found about Crossroads Demons in the brothers' journal, I couldn't believe that might be what we were facing now.

"Crossroads Demon?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice level.

"Yeah, they grant wishes in exchange for your soul," Dean replied shortly and I was surprised at the sudden tension in the room, particularly between the brothers.

"Well, whatever it is...it seems to be targeting successful people," Sam pointed out finally, changing the subject.

"Right. And I think I know who might be next."

"We've only been here an hour...how could you have possibly already figured that out?" Sam wondered.

"Diana invited me to an art opening for some famous sculptor tomorrow night," Dean smirked. "Said she knew the artist before he became big—about five years ago. Sounds like a good place to start as any."

I frowned, realizing that _Diana_ must have been the woman behind the counter in the motel's office.

"Sounds like an opportunity for _you_ to hit on Diana," Sam snorted, rolling his eyes.

Dean shrugged. "That too."

I grimaced at the thought of watching Dean and _Diana_ flirt all night. It was annoying enough when we were renting our rooms, but while we were trying to stop someone from being murdered? That just wasn't right.

"Oh, that reminds me," Dean said, "it's formal dress."

I glanced up at that and my eyes widened when I realized that Dean was talking to me.

"What?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I've seen all the clothes you brought with you."

I stared at him oddly, not really comprehending what he was saying. I was more surprised that he was talking to me directly, than anything.

"Dean's right," Sam chimed in. "If the killer's there, you don't wanna stick out."

"I guess I can stay at the motel...hold down the...uh...fort," I offered.

"You don't have to do that. We'll go pick up something tomorrow," Sam smiled easily.

"No, really," I protested quickly. "It's fine."

"So you're up for breaking and entering, but when it comes to going to some fancy shindig, you opt out?" Dean asked incredulously. "You sure you're a girl?"

I scowled at him—this wasn't the first time he had questioned my gender. It was beginning to grate on my nerves.

"Not all girls like to get dressed up."

"Clearly," Dean muttered, sweeping his gaze down my rumpled sweater and jeans.

I glared at him. Not all of us could spend two days in a car and emerge fresh and wrinkle-free.

"Dean, shut up," Sam sighed, before turning to me. "Bella, you'll be fine. We'll find you something tomorrow," he concluded.

As much as I liked Sam, I kind of hated him in that moment.

...


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sorry to interrupt your flirting, but we've got a job to do."

One great thing about sharing a room with Sam was that when I woke shaking from a particularly horrifying nightmare, he didn't pry. Although his concern was evident, there seemed to be a nonverbal understanding between us that it would go unmentioned. Sam's silence might have seemed out of character if I hadn't known about his own problem with nightmares.

I figured that he was just trying to give me the space he would want—a courtesy I really appreciated, though part of me missed the easy comfort Dean had once offered. I sighed to myself, tired of obsessing over Dean and his recent antics.

The first thing on our agenda for today was to visit one of the areas where people summoned the Crossroads Demon. Although I was still worried about what the existence of souls meant for the Cullens, I found the idea of a Demon that bartered and granted wishes particularly interesting. I was actually a little excited to see the site where all of this would take place.

Although eternal damnation hardly sounded appealing, the wishes did. There were so many things I regretted in my life that I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to simply wish one of those moments away.

I clenched my eyes shut, shoving those admittedly dangerous thoughts away.

The ride over there was quiet, only broken by the sporadic slurp of coffee. I cradled mine in my hands like a lifeline, but kept my gaze poised out of the window. I glanced at the street signs we passed, trying to commit the names to memory.

It had occurred to me that perhaps I wasn't aware of my surroundings as much as I ought to be. After all, it would be so easy to get lost in a new town I hadn't visited before. If I ever found myself separated from the brothers, I didn't want to be left helplessly stranded.

Dean pulled over, parking alongside a field across the street from a place called _Lloyd's Tavern_. For a brief moment, I wondered if the brothers were going to abandon me in favor of heading into a bar, but quickly shook that thought away as Dean popped the trunk.

I hopped out behind Sam and took in my surroundings. The area didn't seem particularly special—just a bar and some fields with a couple flowerbeds. My attention returned to Dean as he retrieved a shovel and moved to what was approximately the middle of the gravel crossroad.

I watched Dean dig into the gravel, eventually unearthing an old wooded box. I peered closer, interested in seeing its contents. All of the items that the journal had mentioned were there, apart from the photo that was required of the person doing the summoning.

"No photo," Dean confirmed with a sigh.

"So either they dug it out after the deal or no one's been here since—" Sam began, before suddenly breaking off.

"Since...when?" I asked.

"Well, if they aren't deals, then what?" Dean asked, as if I hadn't spoken.

"Hard to say. Could be a trickster..." Sam suggested.

_Trickster?_

I glanced between the brothers, noting the way they kept averting their gazes. I huffed in annoyance, realizing that I wasn't going to get an answer.

"We should split up and check out the victims," Sam continued.

"Right. I'll take Sheafing. You two can take Frost," Dean said.

I wasn't surprised that Dean had opted out of my company, though it did sting a little. The brothers used to switch off before, but now Dean seemed determined to pawn me off on Sam any chance that he could get.

I watched Dean rebury the wooden box, wondering what the rest of Sam's sentence would have been.

...

When I finally realized why Dean had given us Cecile Frost to investigate, I had a very strong urge to kick him. It turned out that Cecile Frost had owned a shop in town, right beside a clothing store that seemed to carry only formal wear.

"You can find something for tonight while I talk to Cecile's co-workers," Sam offered, nodding toward the store.

I scowled at one of the mannequins in the window. Was it necessary for every dress to show so much skin?

Sam chuckled. "Come on, it won't be that bad."

I shot Sam a look that I was sure expressed my opinion on the matter.

"You'll be fine," Sam reassured, obviously trying to hold in a laugh. "You're just as bad as Dean."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Dean hadn't looked remotely perturbed by the idea of formal wear.

"Don't let that cocky smirk fool you," Sam said, seeing my look. "I'll meet you in there in a bit."

I continued to scowl, but nodded my head in acquiesce, before stomping over to the entrance. I ignored Sam's chuckling behind me, determined to get this over with.

There were rows upon rows of dresses, but most of them didn't look appealing in the least. The store seemed to be organized by color, which I supposed was convenient if that was what people based their choices on. I meandered through the store, purposefully avoiding the blue section as I wasn't too keen on reliving memories of Edward.

...

"Wow."

I whipped around in surprise, blushing when I came face-to-face with Sam. I stood there uneasily as he took in my dress, resisting the urge to flee into the dressing room.

"You look great," Sam smiled.

"You think so?" I asked uncertainly.

Although the dress was far more tame than most of the others, I couldn't help feeling self-conscious wearing something other than my familiar outfit of a sweater and jeans. It didn't help that my hand was still in a brace and the scar I usually kept dutifully hidden was now uncovered.

"Definitely," Sam's smile seemed to soften. "You look beautiful."

I hardly felt that way, but Sam's compliment seemed genuine, so I decided to get the dress. After all, it wasn't like I was going to find one that would make my injured hand and crescent scar magically disappear if I did keep looking.

I quirked a smile in thanks, before retreating back into the dressing room to change. It didn't take me nearly as long to pick out some shoes, though Sam kept insisting that I could have more time if I wanted. I didn't want to make him wait though, and besides, it wasn't like I needed anything too fancy.

Although I wasn't looking forward to getting dressed up tonight, it was actually refreshing to get to pick out my own clothes. Before the Cullens had left, Alice would always take the reins on that front, practically forcing me into dresses with towering heels that made me—the eternal klutz—fear for my life.

The sense of triumph I felt when the cashier rung up the simple pair of black flats I had picked out was brief. Although I didn't miss playing dress-up with Alice, I couldn't help but wish that she was here.

I was drawn out of my thoughts when Sam thrust his credit card to the cashier. I opened my mouth to protest, but Sam quickly cut me off.

"It's no problem," Sam insisted, giving me a look.

_Alice or not, I guess some things don't change_ ," I thought, rolling my eyes.

...

I took my time in the shower, relishing the hot water after being cooped up in the car for nearly two days. While I had managed to grab a quick one last night, it had hardly been satisfying. I let the hot water pour down my back, soothing my tense muscles.

I made sure my legs were smooth and my nails trimmed—if I couldn't help the hand brace and scar, at least I could make the rest of my body presentable. I combed my hair across the back of my neck into a simple braid draped down my left shoulder, leaving just enough hair out on the other side to serve as bangs.

I supposed that curling my hair would have been better—I could have purchased one at the front counter of the dress shop on my way out—but the idea hardly appealed to me after learning about how Cecile Frost had died.

Besides, without Alice to insist otherwise, I didn't really have to go all out. The only reason I was wearing a dress at all was because Sam and Dean needed me to fit in and to be honest, I would hate to stick out in that crowd.

I slipped on the dress and stared at myself in the mirror for a moment, before sighing in defeat. I sifted through my toiletries and pulled out the bag of make-up I had come across the other day. I had forgotten that the bag was in there and had most likely been added due to Alice's insistence.

I shook thoughts of Alice and the Cullens away, not wanting to think of them. Tonight was going to be bad enough without reliving those memories. After applying some light eyeliner and mascara, I nodded at my reflection, satisfied that I had done enough.

I emerged from the bathroom to find Sam sitting on his bed with his laptop propped open, most likely doing some last minute research. When Sam noticed my presence, he shut off his laptop and stood up.

"You look beautiful," Sam smiled and although he had paid me a similar compliment earlier, I could help but blush.

"And you don't look so bad yourself. Very...debonair," I smiled awkwardly, wincing at my odd choice of words.

Sam just continued to smile good-naturedly.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, let me just—"

"Is Bella ready yet? If we don't get a move on, we'll be late—" Dean interrupted, nearly barreling through the door.

Though I tensed at the sudden intrusion, I kept my back to him and continued to speak as I retrieved my jacket, making sure that my license, cash, and flashlight were stuffed in one of the pockets—just in case.

"Just need to grab my jacket... I didn't take _that_ long," I sighed.

When I did turn around, Dean's gaze immediately snapped up to mine, making me blush as I considered where he might have been looking before. I tried to be discreet as I surveyed his own clothing. While he did look great in a tuxedo, I couldn't help missing his signature jacket.

"You...uh...clean up good," Dean commented, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

I chewed on my lip, wondering why I felt strangely unsatisfied by Dean's assessment of my appearance.

"Thanks," I quirked my lips in something of a smile back. "Um...you do too."

...

It didn't take long for Dean to abandon us once we made it to the gallery and he spotted Diana. I tried not to feel bothered by how quickly we were dismissed and how easily he complimented her on her dress—all traces of that earlier awkwardness seemingly gone.

_At least I have Sam_ , I thought as we browsed the different pieces.

The gallery was comprised of a fairly large two-story room with stark white walls. Most of the artist's sculptures were arranged on low platforms, though there were a few hanging from the ceiling. The pieces were mainly composed of glass, though there were a few that featured metal.

I looked up at one of the hanging pieces, marveling at how the light shined through the glass.

"Wine?" a waiter offered.

I opened my mouth to decline, but when I spotted Dean and Diana flirting over the man's shoulder, I accepted instead. Sam silently took one too, though he gave me an odd look once the waiter had moved on. I knew he disapproved, though I doubted he would say as much after I had yelled at him last time.

I shrugged in response, taking a sip from my glass. Honestly, I was surprised that the waiter had offered at all. I wondered if I had unknowingly managed to gain that confidence I lacked in Spokane, or if I simply looked older in formal wear.

_Probably the latter_ , I though, taking another drink.

"So which one's Donald Ketting?" I asked, glancing around.

I kept my gaze firmly averted from Dean and his _date_.

"Him," Sam nodded at a dark-haired man across the room.

Donald Ketting was a thin man in what I guessed was his mid-twenties, though he could have easily passed for younger. Despite his youth, he was obviously doing well for himself.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" a deep, female voice spoke from my side, drawing me out of my thoughts.

"He looks young," I agreed.

The slim woman in the green dress followed my gaze.

"Five years ago, he was nothing. But now?" the woman chuckled. "Simply remarkable. If I wasn't married to Hector, I would snatch him right up."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps I could live vicariously through you," she continued to laugh conspiratorially.

I looked around, hating Sam for suddenly disappearing. Both my eyebrows shot up when the woman linked her arm with mine, taking little care not to jostle our drinks.

"Come. You must meet Don."

I tried to resist, but she was surprisingly strong for such a thin woman.

"Um...no thank you, I'm fine—"

"Nonsense!" The woman continued to practically drag me toward the unsuspecting man. "A pretty girl like yourself could do with some arm-candy, considering that your former companion seems to have wandered off."

I opened my mouth, uncertain if I wanted to burst out laughing at this woman's suggestion that Sam was my former arm-candy, or scream for help. I settled for biting my lip instead, as she finally managed to tow me to the artist and I didn't want to frighten him.

"Oh, Don! You simply must meet... I'm sorry dear, I didn't catch your name...?"

"Bella."

"Oh, Bella! Such a lovely name. Anyway Don, Bella and I were just admiring your work—simply marvelous!"

I nodded absently, glancing around in search of Sam, hoping that I could get him to rescue me from this woman's clutches.

"Nice to meet you, Bella," Donald smiled pleasantly. "And please, call me Donny. I hate being called Don," he chuckled.

The woman huffed. "I wish you would stop doing that. _Don_ sounds so much better."

"It _sounds_ snooty," Donald argued.

I stifled a snort.

The woman turned to me. "Bella, what do you think? Don or _Donny_?" she asked, pronouncing the latter with disgust.

"Um..." I chewed on my lip in thought. "I think that if he wants to go by Donny, then you should let him."

The woman raised an eyebrow at me in disbelief, before bursting into laughter.

"Oh, I like her!"

I shrugged. "I know how annoying it can get when people insist on calling you...something else."

"Oh?"

"I hate being called Isabella," I explained. "Or Izzy," I added.

"I think Bella suits you," Donald smiled.

"Of course it does!" the woman chimed in. "Bella _is_ Italian for beautiful."

I cleared my throat awkwardly.

"Oh, you'll have to excuse me. It looks like Hector's gotten into the cheeses again," the woman sighed, before stalking over to a somewhat portly gentleman accepting a sample of cheese from a waiter.

"I'm sorry about that," Donald apologized. "Sandra can be...a bit much, sometimes."

"I've noticed," I smiled.

Sandra reminded me a little of Alice with her slim frame and dark hair, not to mention her forceful personality.

_Stop thinking about the Cullens_ , I reprimanded myself.

"So it must be strange... Being young and famous," I observed.

Now that Sandra wasn't here to lead the conversation, I realized that I had an opportunity to learn more about Donald Ketting, specifically why someone might be plotting to kill him.

"Yeah, it can be. It still amazes me that so many people are interested in my work," Donald said, surveying the crowd for a moment. "What about you?" he asked, returning his gaze to me. "Any inclination toward art?"

"Not particularly... I've always been more into literature, myself. I can barely draw a tree," I laughed self-deprecatingly. "But you wouldn't know what that's like. I bet you were a child prodigy," I smiled.

I couldn't help but recall my conversation with Jacob all of those months ago, when I was trying to learn more about vampires.

"A prodigy? No," Donald chuckled. "To be honest, I was terrible as a kid," he confessed with a grin, shifting a little closer. "But we'd better keep that on the hush," he said in a low voice, peering over my shoulder. "Sandra thinks it's bad for my image to tell people that."

I swallowed nervously at his close proximity, but tried to maintain a smile. I was relieved when he leaned back, though I did notice that he didn't return to his original position, leaving us standing closer than before.

"So what changed?" I asked, gesturing to the pieces around us.

Donald's smile seemed to slip for a moment, but it returned so quickly that I wondered if I had imagined it.

"Inspiration finally struck," he smiled, though I thought it looked a little forced now.

I nodded, pretending I didn't notice his shift in demeanor as I took a sip of my wine. I nearly choked when Donald touched my arm.

"Would you like to take a walk with me?" Donald asked with a smile that looked more genuine than before. "I don't know if you've seen the series upstairs, but I would love to show them to you."

I chewed on my lip uncertainly. While this would give me more time to try to figure out what his role was in the murders, I was hesitant to move somewhere more secluded with him. Although he did seem harmless, I would be stupid not to consider that he might actually be responsible for the other deaths.

The decision was taken out of my hands when a familiar voice called my name.

"Bella—there you are! I've been wondering where you ran off to."

I raised an eyebrow as Dean walked over to us, glancing pointedly at Diana, who was currently tucked into his side. Dean ignored me, keeping his gaze leveled on Donald.

"I'm Donny," Donald introduced himself once they had reached us, politely extending a hand to Dean. "And you are...?"

"Dean," he supplied, grasping Donald's hand, who winced at the tight grip. "I'm—"

"Bella's brother," Diana interjected with a smile.

Dean grimaced at that, though I didn't understand why. After all, _he_ was the one who had told Diana we were siblings.

"Oh! Nice to meet you," Donald said with a touch of relief.

Dean smiled uneasily back.

"Donny, your work is just amazing," Diana praised. "I can't believe it—you've done so well for yourself since high school."

"Yeah, it's really great," Dean agreed in a tone that was far more subdued than the one Diana had used. "You must have a lot of _natural_ talent to pull these together."

I cleared my throat awkwardly in the silence that followed, shooting a glare at Dean. His words had sounded nearly accusatory and it was obvious from the grimace on Donald's face that he had noticed.

"What can I say... It just comes to me," Donald replied, smiling uneasily.

"I'll bet it does."

"Dean, can I talk you for a moment?" I asked through gritted teeth. "Excuse us."

I led Dean a few feet away to give us some semblance of privacy.

"What's your problem?" I demanded.

Between Dean's childish behavior the last couple of days and his sudden interference when I was finally _getting somewhere_ , I had had just about enough.

"Sorry to interrupt your _flirting_ ," Dean bit out gruffly, "but we've got a job to do."

"You've got to be kidding me," I said in disbelief. "I _wasn't_ flirting—"

Dean scoffed.

"—and what about Diana? If anyone is _distracted_ from the job, it's you. I was doing just fine before you showed up—"

"Yeah, you looked about ready to seal the deal," Dean sneered.

"I wasn't—" I growled in frustration, pinching the bride of my nose in an unconscious imitation of Edward. I quickly dropped my hand when I noticed. "I was _trying_ to learn more about him—that's what we're here for, isn't it?"

"That's what we're here for," Dean agreed. " _Me and Sam_." The clarification might as well have been a jab to the stomach. "You're just here so that we can keep an eye on you."

I grimaced at Dean's assessment of my role in their lives.

"I know..." I acknowledged quietly. Though it hurt to do so, I pressed on, "But that doesn't mean I can't help—"

"Yes, it does," Dean cut me off. "You're not a Hunter, Bella. And by pretending to be, you're just getting in the way."

I opened my mouth to reply, but as I looked into his hard eyes, I became lost for words. I cleared my throat, wincing at the lump that had formed there.

"Right..." I mumbled after a moment, looking anywhere but at Dean. "I'll just...go then."

I turned and quickly walked away, mumbling an excuse to Donald and Diana as I moved passed them. Weaving through the throng of people, I tried to put as much distance as I could between myself and Dean. I threw back the rest of my glass of wine and gratefully accepted another from a nearby waiter.

I leaned against the wall of a small alcove, swallowing heavily against the feeling of both hurt and failure. Dean was right—I wasn't a Hunter. I was just deluding myself by thinking that I could be—that I could do what they do.

I huffed out a breath, willing the traitorous tears back. I wouldn't cry over this—not in a room full of strangers with Dean nearby. All I had wanted was to help and crying now would just prove how weak I really was.

_Just breathe_ , I coached myself, letting my head fall back.

I stared up at the ceiling, allowing my gaze to drift around the room. I was admiring the hanging glass sculpture when some movement caught my eye.

A man—who I probably wouldn't have noticed if not for his black suit which stood out against the stark white walls—was standing on the second story, leaning slightly on the balcony railing. My brows furrowed in concern as I wondered how sturdy it was, when I noticed the man extending his hand outward, his palm flat.

I followed the man's intent gaze to the glass sculpture, my eyes widening when I noticed it begin to shake. I glanced down and felt my heart begin to pound as I realized that Donald Ketting was standing right underneath it, thankfully alone.

My wine glass slipped from my lax fingers and I didn't think as I sprinted across the room, my mind focused only on reaching Donald before it was too late. I couldn't hear anything over the whoosh of adrenaline and the hammering in my chest as I barreled into him, grunting with the force of impact.

My momentum sent both of us to the floor, as well as Donald's wine glass flying. I felt more than heard the sculpture shatter as tiny shards sprayed outward, showering us in glass.

A woman was screaming and others were shouting, but I couldn't pick out any that I recognized over the ringing in my ears. Donald was lying nearby, staring at me with wonder. I tried to stand and winced at the pain in my knees, belatedly realizing that I had skinned them when we skidded on the floor.

Despite the chaos going on around me, I couldn't help but curse this formal wear for being terribly inconvenient.

"You—you saved my life," Donald breathed in awe.

I quirked my lips uneasily, furrowing my brows in concentration as I tried to overlook the smell of blood coming from my injured knees.

"It was nothing—" I tried to deny before a familiar voice cut through the cacophony around us.

"Bella, what the _hell_ were you thinking?" Dean demanded.

...


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You'd be surprised at what I can handle."

I raised my head, surprised to find Dean crouched so close. Although the memory of what he had said to me less than five minutes ago still left a bitter taste in my mouth, it was hard to acknowledge that when faced with his concern.

In fact, perhaps it was the dizzying smell of blood or his close proximity, but it was a bit difficult to notice much else.

"Bella, are you okay?"

Sam's worried voice shattered whatever strange fog had settled over me and I blinked furiously to push away the haze.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumbled, hissing in pain when I finally managed to stagger to my feet. "Just scraped up my knees."

"What about your hand?" Sam asked, examining said appendage.

"Didn't land on it," I sighed, relieved that I hadn't injured my hand further in the fall.

There was a crowd gathered now, fluttering around Donald Ketting in worry. I allowed the brothers to lead me away, knowing that the last thing we needed right now was to gain more attention. We managed to sneak out relatively unnoticed, though Diana did spot us as we made it to the door.

"Oh my god—that was—Bella, are you okay?" Diana asked, seeming too panicked to finish a thought.

I clenched my eyes shut, just wanting her to _go away_.

"She's fine—just needs some rest," Dean mumbled hurriedly.

"Are you sure? Maybe we should—"

"We'll take care of it," Dean bit out, cutting her off. "Look—I'll call you later," he dismissed gruffly, much to my surprise.

I was relieved when we reached the Impala without further incident. I leaned against the passenger side, trying to ignore the feeling of blood dripping slowly down my legs.

"Bella, that was—"

" _Stupid_ ," Dean cut Sam off. "I _told you_ not to get in the way—"

"Dean—"

"So what? I should've just stood there and watched him die?" I demanded incredulously, my heart still pounding from the rush of adrenaline.

" _No_ ," Dean bit out with a glare. "You should've let one of us—"

"There wasn't time!" I protested. "When I realized what he was about to do—"

"He?" Sam cut in.

"I saw a man on the second floor. I think he might've made the sculpture fall, " I explained.

"Why do you say that?"

"He kind of...raised his hand." I lifted my hand in imitation of the gesture for a moment. "Pointed his palm at the sculpture. It started to shake..."

"What did he look like?" Sam asked.

"Um...he was wearing a black suit. He had brown hair..." I trailed off, unable to recall more.

"That's it? That's all you got?" Dean huffed.

"Well, he was kind of far away," I defended. "I might not have noticed him at all if it wasn't for his dark clothes."

"Ignore Dean. He's just being an ass," Sam sighed, sounding as tired of Dean's behavior as I was. "You've done more tonight than either of us," Sam pointed out, leveling Dean with a look.

I averted my gaze, shifting awkwardly and wincing as the movement caused a sting of pain in my knees.

"We should take care of that," Sam said, indicating my wounds.

I watched in confusion as he walked over to the trunk and retrieved a first aid kit.

"Shouldn't we wait till we get back to the hotel?" I asked.

"We aren't heading back there yet," Sam explained.

"Ketting might've survived one attempt on his life, but that doesn't mean there won't be another tonight," Dean muttered gruffly.

Although I was uncomfortable with Sam's praise, I couldn't help feeling a little disgruntled that Dean had referred to the incident as Donald _surviving_ , rather than my saving his life.

Sam opened the passenger door, gesturing toward the seat. I sat down, but opened my mouth in protest when Sam kneeled in front of me, presumably to take care of the wound. I wanted to point out that I wasn't entirely useless—that I could probably handle cleaning myself up, despite my aversion to blood.

Noticing my unease, Sam simply shook his head, giving me the same look that he had given me when I argued about him paying for my dress. It was a look that said he wasn't going to back down, so I should just accept it.

I sighed, but nodded in acquiesce. I kept my gaze focused on the sky while Sam gently wiped my knees clean. I bit my lip against the sting of the antiseptic, feeling conflicted. I knew I could have fought harder, but I was, admittedly, grateful that he had insisted. My unease stemmed more from the look on Dean's face as he leaned against the Impala, waiting.

Needing Sam to tend to my wounds was probably just serving as confirmation of Dean's earlier comments. A Hunter couldn't be weak and my aversion to blood was undoubtedly a weakness. As accurate as his perception of me was beginning to feel, I hated that I was proving him right.

I undid my braid and shook my hair out, trying to dislodge any glass debris that might have gotten stuck in there. I was lucky that the shards hadn't been bigger and that I had managed to push Donald far enough away to prevent any real damage from the shattering sculpture.

Once Sam finished, I hopped up and slid into the backseat. As the brothers joined me in the car, I thought about how Dean had been uncharacteristically quiet while Sam took care of my knees. I glanced in the review mirror, my unease growing as Dean quickly averted his gaze without a word.

...

The brothers made a couple of calls, using fraudulent identities to gather information on Donald's whereabouts. It wasn't long before we had managed to track Donald down to a classy hotel, but before we could do more than enter the lobby, Sandra spotted us from the bar.

"Bella!" she called, sliding off of her stool and stalking toward me.

I smiled uneasily, offering an awkward wave in greeting. I was surprised when Sandra immediately pulled me into a hug.

"Oh, Bella... You were absolutely brilliant. I knew there was a reason I liked you!"

I cleared my throat.

"Is Donny okay?" I asked, relieved when she loosened her grip and leaned back.

"Yes, he is—thanks to you!" Sandra replied with a wide smile.

I tried to smile back, but I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable by her enthusiasm.

"Come—I must buy you a drink."

"I don't—"

"It's the _least_ I can do," Sandra insisted, beginning to tow me toward the bar.

I shot a pleading look over my shoulder, but the brothers simply shrugged in response. I sighed in defeat, realizing that this was probably our best bet to remain close to Donald in case the man in the black suit returned.

Donald was sitting at the bar, quietly nursing a drink. Although he looked a little ruffled—probably the result of a combination of the fall and other people worrying over him—he seemed to be alright. He smiled as we approached, his gaze briefly flickering to Sam and Dean before returning to me.

"Bella," Donald greeted, "I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" I returned reflexively, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

Donald chuckled at my expression.

"Of course! You ran off before I could properly thank you," Donald admonished.

"Oh. You don't owe me anything..."

"I owe you my life," Donald pointed out seriously. "I really can't thank you enough."

I glanced away, unnerved by Donald's stare. I really hadn't done much—just reacted. Someone else could have done the same.

"Can I get you something to drink? I know that hardly makes up for it..." Donald said earnestly.

I sighed, realizing that there probably wasn't anything I could say to deter him from the offer.

"No, it's fine," I replied honestly, resigned.

"Good," Donald smiled gratefully. He waved the bartender over. "What will you have then?"

"Just a coke."

The bartender raised an eyebrow at me, but fetched the drink as I took a seat beside Donald.

"You could've had anything you liked—my treat," Donald pointed out.

"I like the classics," I shrugged.

Donald nodded, seeming to accept that. I was glad that he hadn't tried to push me into getting something alcoholic. With a telekinetic murderer on the loose, I thought one glass of wine was enough. I didn't want to dull my senses further, no matter how tempting the idea was.

I jumped when Dean sat beside me, scraping his stool against the floor. I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing, but was interrupted when the bartender returned with my drink. The bartender paused to take Dean's order—I resisted the urge to make a comment about him having whiskey while working—before moving away.

"Hope that's just Coke," Dean commented with a smirk. "My _baby sister_ can't handle her liquor."

The stress he put on _baby sister_ made me want to grind my teeth. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You'd be surprised at what I can handle," I murmured, feeling my chin jut out in challenge.

Dean stared at me silently for a long moment, locking his gaze with mine. This time, I refused to look away. It was a strange moment, one that made my heart pound as the seconds ticked by, neither of us backing down.

Donald shifted uncomfortably behind us and just like that, Dean seemed to snap out of it.

"Aww," Dean pushed out his lips mockingly and ruffled my hair. "She's so cute when she acts tough."

I knocked Dean's hand away and glared at him, fuming as he merely smirked in response.

"So Donny," Dean leaned forward, talking around me, "you must be pretty shaken up."

"A little, but I'll be alright. Thanks to your sister," Donald smiled at me.

I cleared my throat uneasily, glancing over my shoulder and noting that Sam was sitting with Sandra at a table nearby.

"Kind of ironic though, isn't it? Nearly getting murdered by something you created," Dean commented, regaining my attention.

"Murdered?" Donald repeated in amusement. "Don't know if I'd put it like that... I doubt the faulty cables had a grudge against me," he laughed.

"Must put things in perspective for you though, doesn't it? Nearly dying like that?"

"I guess," Donald shrugged. "But my life isn't over yet. I've still got some years left."

The bartender returned with Dean's drink and Donald paused to take a swallow of his own.

"A good five years, I'd bet."

Donald choked on his drink and I shot Dean a look of disbelief, wondering if it was physically impossible for him to be subtle tonight. Dean's cocky smirk remained in place as he took a generous gulp of his drink, appearing unbothered by Donald's reaction.

"Excuse me?" Donald sputtered.

"She gave you ten didn't she?" Dean asked calmly. "You've used five already. That leaves five more."

_Ten years_ , I thought, realizing that he was referring to the Crossroads Demon. I was surprised that the demon would give someone so long. Ten years was more than half my life—I could definitely understand the appeal of making a deal. Not only did the person get whatever they wanted, they got to enjoy their wish for quite some time.

"I don't—who _are_ you?" Donald demanded, glancing suspiciously between us, all traces of his previous smile gone.

"No one," Dean replied, chugging down the last of his drink.

Dean put a couple bills down for the drink and stood, before grabbing my arm and pulling me from my seat as well.

"Come on, Bella," Dean muttered, directing me toward the exit. "Sam," he called a bit louder.

"But Dean—"

"Wait! You can't just—"

Dean continued to shuffle us forward, paying no attention to my or Donald's protests. Sam followed without argument, offering Sandra a quick apologetic smile. Once we made it outside, I ripped my arm out of his grasp.

"What was that about?" Sam asked.

"I got everything we need," Dean explained, stalking over to the Impala. "We don't need to worry about him."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked as we rushed to follow him. "What about the demon?"

_Demon? Was that what that man was?_

"That kid made a deal with the Crossroads Demon," Dean threw over his shoulder in a dismissive tone, wrenching open the driver's side door.

"That doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to be saved."

Dean paused before climbing in, resting his elbows on the roof of the Impala. The atmosphere around the brothers had gone from bewildered to tense and I wasn't quite sure why. Sam's jaw was clenched as he stared hard at Dean—clearly something else was going on.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably, getting the distinct feeling that I was intruding on something private.

"Five years, ten years... It doesn't matter. The kid's dog food," Dean muttered gruffly.

I frowned at Dean, my unease growing at Sam's subtle wince. Between Dean's callous words and the tension surrounding whatever they were hiding, I was definitely becoming worried. I wanted to ask, but I was hesitant to interrupt them.

"What about the demon—the one that Bella saw?" Sam countered. "He's going after people that made deals. What if..."

"What if, what?" I asked quietly, needing to break the silence despite myself.

The brothers' gazes shot to me in surprise, almost as if they had forgotten about my presence. Sam cleared his throat.

"What if there's something else going on?" Sam's tone was subdued now, but no less determined. "We need to find him."

"Fine," Dean sighed in resignation. "But the bastard's not gonna make another move until Ketting's alone. Not after failing tonight. He'll want to make sure."

"Right," Sam agreed. "And I've got a way to get in their rooms."

Sam produced a pair of key cards from his pocket.

"Are those...?" I trailed off, my eyebrows rising in disbelief.

"You pick pocketed the agent?" Dean asked.

"I pick pocketed the agent," Sam confirmed with a small smirk.

...

As it turned out, despite Donald's artistic talents, he had a distinct lack of organizational skills. This had resulted in quite a few mishaps in which Donald had misplaced vital paperwork and the like. It was this weakness that had prompted Donald to hire Sandra, who seemed to double as his agent and personal assistant.

Sam had learned all of this from chatting with Sandra, while Dean and I were sitting at the bar with Donald. Although he couldn't have known Dean would drag us out mid-conversation, he had seen an opportunity and he took it. I was amazed that he had managed to swipe the key cards and thought about asking him to show me how he had pulled that off sometime.

It would have to wait though, as we were currently breaking into Donald Ketting's room.

I was surprised that Dean hadn't made more of a fuss about being paired with me, but then, I supposed that even he couldn't argue with logic. We needed someone to be on the lookout downstairs and since I didn't have a phone, that really only left one of the brothers. Staying downstairs with one of them would have made it more difficult to hide and watch.

Of course, the brothers could have switched places if Dean hadn't drawn so much attention to himself earlier. After his comments at the bar, it was obvious that Donald was suspicious.

I followed closely behind Dean as he did a quick sweep of the hotel room, trying not to let my amazement hinder my attentiveness. We had gotten lucky with Donald—if he hadn't been famous, he probably wouldn't have booked the hotel's best room. It had made our lives significantly easier, as we only needed to try each card key on the door to see which one worked.

Although in normal circumstances the room probably wouldn't have seemed all that extraordinary, after staying in such cramped quarters with the brothers, I could definitely appreciate its luxury. There was an actual _living room_ complete with its own couch and flat screen television, not to mention the kitchen.

I made a mental note to ask the brothers about getting a motel room with a kitchen sometime. I wasn't sure how much longer I could handle diner food. A nice, home cooked meal would definitely hit the spot.

"All clear," Dean muttered as he reentered the room.

I bit my lip sheepishly, realizing that I had let myself get sidetracked. I jerked forward when Dean grabbed a table, taking the other end to help him move it, mindful of my injured hand. Once that piece of furniture was out of the way, Dean pulled the large rug back, revealing the white carpet underneath.

I watched in disbelief as Dean pulled a can of red spray paint out of his jacket and proceeded to illustrate a strange symbol on the carpet.

"That's definitely gonna stain," I commented.

"Better paint than blood," Dean muttered.

"What is that?" I asked curiously.

"A Devil's Trap."

I stared down at the symbol, amazed that Dean could recall such intricate detail from memory.

"So we're trying to trap...a devil?" I asked in confusion.

_Hadn't they said it was a Demon?_

Dean snorted.

"It's called a Devil's Trap, but it traps Demons," he explained, rolling his eyes at my ignorance. "They step in and they're stuck."

"Oh."

Dean stared at his handiwork for a moment, before covering it with the rug. I helped him return the table to its proper place and glanced around, making sure we weren't leaving any evidence of our presence behind.

I jumped when Dean's phone rang. From the expectant look on his face, I figured it was Sam.

"Right," Dean replied, stuffing his can of spray paint back into his jacket. "Wait a few minutes and follow." Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

Dean flipped his phone shut and gestured toward the closet.

"Come on, Ketting's on his way."

I glanced back at the closet, frowning.

"You want us to hide?"

" _Yes_ ," Dean confirmed, rolling his eyes. "Now get in."

Dean shuffled me forward and into the closet, following closely behind. The closet was bigger than most, but it was still not really large enough for two people to fit among Donald's wardrobe. He had more clothes hung in here than I had back at the motel.

I was very aware of Dean's presence beside me and my breathing sounded very loud in the cramped space. I tried to quiet mine and listen, peering through the small opening Dean had left and wondering how long we would have to wait in here. It was uncomfortable to say the least, especially after the way Dean had been treating me. This was the closest that we had been since Kennewick and although it was subtle, I could see Dean inching away.

I frowned at that, noting his tense shoulders. I might have blamed it on the situation if he wasn't pressing himself so thoroughly against the opposite wall, preventing any part of our bodies from connecting. Considering how small the closet was, that was quite the feat.

It had been obvious from the beginning what his problem was, after all, he hadn't started acting this way until he learned about Edward. Judging from his current behavior, the idea must've really disgusted him if he couldn't bear to be near me even for this brief amount of time.

Despite my resolve not to let Dean get to me, that realization hurt. Truthfully, it all did. It didn't matter how many times I told myself not to feel bothered by his treatment because I did. In this moment of forced silence with Dean avoiding me like the plague, I just couldn't ignore it anymore.

The sound of a key card being thrust into the door drew me from my thoughts—Donald must've gotten himself a replacement—and I held my breath as it finally opened. Donald strolled in, kicking the door shut behind him as he whistled a tune I didn't recognize. I watched as he suddenly stopped, almost as if he had run into an invisible barrier.

Donald bent down and kicked the rug beneath him out of the way, revealing the marked carpet. He sighed in annoyance, his gaze flitting across the room.

"Clever," Donald remarked, staring pointedly at the closet we were occupying. "Come out, come out, wherever you are..." he sang.

I followed Dean reluctantly as he pushed the door open and emerged, confused by this turn of events.

"Ah, Dean Winchester," Donald acknowledged, before his gaze shifted to me and narrowed. "And _you_."

I stared at Donald, unnerved by the look he was giving me—so very different from the pleased smile he usually wore. It was different than the suspicion that had been on his features when Dean and I left him at the bar.

"I don't understand," I admitted. "What's wrong with Donny?"

"He's not Donny anymore," Dean said. "He's being possessed by the Demon."

I watched in shock as Donald's eyes went black—much darker than a thirsty vampire—before reverting back to normal.

"Right you are," Donald smirked. "Where's Sammy? Did you get yourself a new sidekick?" Donald sneered, shooting a pointed look at me.

I averted my gaze, noting the way Dean quirked an unnervingly crooked smile.

"Don't worry, Sam's on his way. Why, were you hoping for an autograph?"

Donald smirked, but didn't comment.

"So what's the deal with the freak accidents? You're breaching an awful lot of contracts."

"And they say Sam's the clever one."

"Must be bad for business," Dean continued, ignoring Donald's jab.

I stood nearby, watching Dean banter with Donald uneasily. I lifted my hand to brush my hair out of my face, wishing I could contribute to this in some way. I tensed when I noticed Donald following the movement with his intense gaze and let my hand fall to my side. When Donald continued to stare, his gaze now clearly focused on my scar, I covered it with my other hand.

Donald hummed in response to Dean's comment and although he seemed to refocus on him, I had the distinct feeling that he was still watching me. Dean produced a flask out of his pocket and I frowned, wondering if now was really the time for a drink.

I flinched when Donald suddenly howled as Dean flicked the liquid across his face.

"What _is_ that?"

"Holy water," Dean replied matter-of-factly as he jerked his wrist again, before pulling a book out of his jacket and beginning to chant.

Judging by the strange words— _Latin_ , my mind supplied—I figured it was an exorcism ritual.

I watched in horrified fascination as Donald writhed, acting as if the holy water burned his skin like acid. His teeth were clenched as his body shuddered in pain, Dean's carefully recited Latin bringing him to his knees.

I wanted to look away. Every fiber of my being was telling me to close my eyes, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop watching as Dean tortured Donald with a calmness that nearly made me sick. I understood that Dean's actions were necessary and that he was in fact saving quite a few lives, but I couldn't stop myself from picturing Edward in Donald's place.

That thought made my heart clench painfully and gave me the will to finally tear my gaze away. I edged around the trap, mindful of my steps. I didn't want to get too close and turn this into a hostage situation, but I needed to get out of this room.

Dean didn't pause in his chant even as I slipped through the door. I leaned against a nearby wall, sliding to the floor as Donald's aguish continued to assault my eardrums. I was amazed that no one could hear them, but then, this was a rather secluded floor.

I rubbed my eyes furiously, needing to remove the image of Edward kneeling in Donald's place out of my mind. My heart thundered in my chest, my hands shaking as I felt true fear for the first time since leaving with the brothers.

I had never worried about them hurting me, but I just _knew_ that if they were ever to get their hands on Edward, they probably wouldn't even hesitate to dispatch him. Regardless of how I felt about him, he was just a vampire to them—a monster that they needed to hunt.

I felt sick. There was a rushing in my ears that I tried to drive away as I fought for a calmness that wouldn't come.

I thought of the ghost of Derek Denasy and how the brothers had burned his bones, sending him who knows where. He hadn't done anything wrong—in fact, he had actually helped us figure out what was going on—but that hadn't mattered. The brothers couldn't risk leaving him alone for fear that he would eventually become hostile.

If the brothers could do that to an innocent child, then Edward didn't stand a chance.

I couldn't seem to calm down—the adrenaline continued to pump through my veins and I nearly felt the urge to run. The thoughts about Edward certainly weren't helping and I could imagine his hard gaze staring down at me, condemning me once again for my weakness. I could almost hear—

I froze.

I don't know how I hadn't noticed it before. There had been so many opportunities—when Joseph Clancy Jr. attacked me, during Jacob's rampage through the forest, as Gretchen towered over me and demanded answers that I didn't have—and it hadn't happened.

Not once.

I stared down at my hands, feeling a tear slide down my cheek as I came to the crippling realization that I was no longer hearing Edward's voice.

" _Oh god_."

...


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We all need something. You need to be a bit more specific."

I sat there, staring fixatedly at my scar—the only reminder I had that the Cullens had been real—willing Edward's voice to return. I didn't notice Sam until he spoke.

"Bella?"

I could detect the concern in his voice and I tried to rearrange my features into an expression that was less shocked, desperate, and just plain _horrified_.

"I'm fine."

My voice sounded calm, despite the lump in my throat. I didn't know how I was managing it, speaking as if my world wasn't crashing down around me, but judging by the familiar numbness that I could feel just at the edge of my reach, I had a pretty good idea.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "Go," I insisted, nodding at the door. "Dean needs you."

I could tell Sam didn't believe me, but I also knew that these were the magic words. If there was one thing I had learned during my time with Sam and Dean, it was that they would do anything for each other. They didn't say it in so many words, but their bond was evident to anyone who had been around them for longer than five minutes.

Sam looked suspicious, as if he recognized what I was doing, but that didn't stop him from entering the room.

"So why the piano, the curling iron, the sculpture? Why not just break in one night and slit their throats?" Dean asked as Donald's howls quieted.

"We've all got our kinks." I could hear the smirk in Donald's voice. "Besides, what would be the fun in something so quiet as that?"

I couldn't believe that anyone would associate slitting someone's throat as _quiet_.

"You want the attention," Sam realized. "But why?"

I clenched my eyes shut as Donald's pained moans resumed when he remained silent for too long.

"To piss _her_ off," Donald finally gritted out.

"Her?"

" _She_ holds all of the contracts. Each soul she claims gives her more power. If the contract's broken, she can't collect."

"Who is she?"

Another bout of tortured screams filled the silence and I just couldn't take it anymore. I staggered to my feet, casting one last glance at the door before fleeing down the hallway. I managed to make out Donald's answer before reaching the elevator.

" _Lilith_ ," he hissed.

...

I watched the bright red numbers count down, anxious to make it to the bottom floor. I was relieved when the doors finally slid open and wasted no time in hurrying across the lobby, wondering how long it would take for Sam and Dean to notice my absence.

It was only when I made it outside that I remembered that I had nowhere to go. I was in _Mississippi_ for god's sake, and I was completely, utterly, alone.

I stood there, my breathing becoming labored when a taxi pulled up and a couple emerged, neither of them paying me much attention as they moved passed. I stared at the taxi for a moment as it remained idle, before I was suddenly moving forward and sliding into the backseat.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

The words came out without real thought, but once they did, I realized that it was exactly where I needed to go.

"Lloyd's bar."

...

I dug my fingers into the ground, feeling bits of gravel lodge themselves uncomfortably underneath my nails. It didn't take long for me to reach the box with the various occult items inside, but I hesitated before adding my license.

I was alone out here with only the moon to give me light, my heart pounding in my chest. Yet, despite the adrenaline and the dangerous situation I was about to put myself in, everything remained horribly silent. The reminder that Edward's voice had finally abandoned me too gave me the resolve to drop it in.

I reburied the box and stood, my gaze searching the clearing for some difference or an indication that it had worked. For several long moments, there was nothing, until I suddenly felt as if I was being watched. I whipped around, gasping when I came face-to-face with a pretty brunette woman in a little black dress.

"Bella Swan...as I live and breathe."

I watched as her eyes suddenly flashed red, much like Donald's had turned black.

"Well. Figuratively, anyway," she smirked. "Never expected to see you here."

"You...you know who I am?" I asked, surprised.

"I make it a habit of keeping an eye on the Winchester boys," she explained.

Despite my having fled from Sam and Dean, I didn't like the sound of that. I was sure that the brothers wouldn't either.

"You're a peculiar thing, aren't you?" she remarked, strolling closer.

"Excuse me?"

"The Cold One who loved his singer. That's what they're calling you two."

"They?"

"Other demons."

"You...talk about me?" I asked, incredulously.

I remembered the way Donald had stared at me at the hotel. He must've known about me too. The idea of a bunch of demons discussing my love life was unnerving.

"Of course. There are even some bets going. Personally, I thought the two of you would pull through. I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?" she replied with a knowing look.

I tried not to think about what she knew and focused on why I was here. Sensing my shift in mood, she leveled her gaze onto me.

"Why have you called me here? Last I heard, you were getting cozy with the elder Winchester."

_You obviously haven't been paying that much attention then_ , I thought.

I took a deep breath.

"I need something."

"We all need something. You need to be a bit more specific."

She moved a few steps away, glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes.

"You want Edward back," she deduced. "I can make that happen."

I chewed on my bottom lip and stared at her with furrowed brows, realizing how surreal this situation was. After months of anguishing over Edward's departure, I couldn't believe that it could be so easy, that regaining everything I had lost was actually within my grasp.

"And the...the price?" I asked.

"Ten long years in exchange for your soul."

Ten years still sounded like quite a bit of time, but now that I was standing here on the brink of making such a deal, a little hesitancy was beginning to filter passed the desperate and panicked thoughts that had driven me to this clearing.

"All you have to do to seal the deal is plant one right here," she smirked, indicating her lips.

My eyes widened in disbelief. I don't know what I had expected—maybe signing a contract in my own blood—but a _kiss_ certainly hadn't been it.

"What's wrong? You've kissed a vampire, surely a demon wouldn't make you squeamish. Or is it the meat suit? A little too feminine for your taste?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

For a brief moment, I forgot my own problems and I thought about the woman the Crossroads Demon was possessing. Was she aware of what was happening around her—to her?

"Don't worry, honey. I'm about as feminine as a bulldog. I'm certainly more masculine than your sparkling ex."

I frowned at that, but chose not to comment.

As I stood there about to make one of the biggest decisions of my life, I felt a strong sense of _wrongness_ wash over me. I knew I wanted this—had wanted this for so very long—but deep down I couldn't shake the feeling that this was an extremely bad idea.

Going back to the way things were and preventing Edward from leaving would give me that life back, but what about the one I was living now? Would I remember the ghosts, the witch, and the demons? Would I remember that triumph I felt over doing something so simple as purchasing my own clothes?

If I went back, would the brothers still show up to stop Laurent? By ensuring that Edward and the Cullens never left, would I actually be putting them in more danger?

What about Edward? He had left because he didn't think I was good enough for him. Would I be condemning him to a life with me, a mediocre human? I hated when others made my decisions for me. By making this deal, was I taking _his_ choice away?

All of these thoughts were suddenly pushing their way to the forefront of my mind, increasing my doubt with each second.

"I don't have all night..." she sang, shooting me a pointed look.

I opened my mouth, uncertain of what I was actually going to say, when a pair of headlights shone through the darkness. I cringed as Dean slammed his door shut—hard enough to express his anger without causing damage to his beloved car. For one crazy moment, I thought about surging forward and completing the deal before Dean could reach us, but quickly dismissed that idea as Dean stalked over.

"Dean...long time no see," the Crossroads Demon smiled.

I glanced between them in confusion, feeling uneasy about their familiarity. Dean ignored her and I gasped when he grabbed my arm, beginning to pull me toward the Impala. It took a moment for the shock to wear off, but once it did, I sunk my heels into the gravel.

"Dean," I gritted out, "Let _go_."

Dean's jaw was set as he glared down at me, but I wasn't going to let him treat me like a ragdoll. After everything he had put me through these last several days, I was truly fed up. I didn't have to worry about being left behind by him anymore because I had _options_.

I actually enjoyed travelling with them and saving lives, but Dean had said it himself—I wasn't a Hunter. If I couldn't have that kind of life, then I would take my old one back. Although I was hesitant to actually make the deal, I _refused_ to be left behind in Forks to rot.

_Not again_ , I thought.

"Get in the car, _Bella_ ," Dean ground out, his tone booking no argument.

" _No_."

"I will carry you if I have to," Dean threatened, an evil glint in his eye.

I glared up at him.

"I would advise against that," the Crossroads Demon spoke, her voice full of warning. "Bella's a big girl. She summoned me and if she wants to make a deal, then I won't let you interfere with that."

I stared at her, shocked that she was actually defending my right to make my own choices. While I knew that she was just interested in gaining my soul, it was still surprising, especially considering how many times the supposedly _good_ guys had tried to make my decisions for me.

"As hot as that make-out session would be..."

My eyes widened when Dean pulled out his gun, aiming at the Crossroads Demon. She didn't even flinch at the introduction of a weapon, maintaining eye contact.

"Those bullets won't work on me," she pointed out with an amused smirk.

"No, but it'll be harder for you two to kiss with a face full of lead."

"Dean, stop it."

He kept his gaze focused on the Crossroads Demon, his finger resting purposefully on the trigger.

"I don't know what kind of crap deal you're trying to make," Dean said gruffly. "But I'm not gonna let you throw away your soul for a goddamn _vampire_."

I clenched my jaw and angrily ripped my arm out of his grasp.

"It's _my_ soul. I'll do what I want with it," I gritted out.

I was so tired of everyone worrying so much over my soul—first Edward, now Dean.

"Oh, Dean. Such a hypocrite," the Crossroads Demon sighed, shaking her head.

I looked sharply at Dean, confusion momentarily overpowering my anger.

"What is she talking about?"

"Nothing," Dean muttered.

"Don't want Bella to know about the deal _you_ made?"

"What? You made a deal?"

To say I was shocked was an understatement. Dean glared at the Crossroads Demon, but didn't deny it.

"You made a deal," I repeated, astonished. "And now you're trying to tell me I shouldn't?"

"It was different—"

"It's always different with you, isn't it?" I pointed out, bitterly. "It's okay for _you_ to risk your life and make deals with Demons. But not for me, right? Because I'm not a Hunter?" I bit out. "Well you know what else I'm not? A _child_."

"Goddamn it Bella, just listen—"

" _No_. I'm done listening to you," I snapped. "You know, there's a difference between _coddling_ someone and lashing out at them." Dean grimaced, realizing I had overheard his conversation with Sam. "All you've done since you found out about Edward is put me down and I'm sick of it."

Dean averted his gaze uncomfortably, but I kept going. I had remained mostly quiet about Dean's behavior, but now that I had broken that silence, I couldn't seem to stop.

"You have _no_ idea what our relationship was like," I pointed out. "You want to know the truth?"

I took a deep breath, feeling a telltale prickle behind my eyes.

"He was _good_. He saved my life so many times. He even went against his own nature by feeding only on _animals_. And—" my voice cracked, "—he's the only one who ever made me feel special," I admitted quietly, shocked by that realization. "Like I wasn't just some freak."

Dean was quiet for a few moments, but when he finally did speak, he said the last thing I had expected from him.

"You're not a freak."

"Yeah...right," My laugh was shaky and lacked any real humor. "I'm such a freak that I keep driving everyone away. First Edward, then Jacob, and...then it'll be you and Sam."

I swallowed passed the lump in my throat, steeling myself.

"Well I'm not going to let you _abandon_ me too," I spat the word. "I'll die before I let anyone leave me behind in Forks again."

I turned away from Dean, feeling like I had gotten a huge weight off of my chest, a new sense of resolve filling me. I meant what I said—regardless if it did sound a touch dramatic—and if this was the only way to get what I wanted, then so be it. I would rather spend ten years feeling loved than fifty all alone.

I had barely taken a step before Dean grabbed my arm again and I opened my mouth, prepared to tell him off. He used his grip to whip me back around and I squeaked as the momentum caused me to crash into his body. My protests died in my throat when Dean's mouth was suddenly covering mine.

It barely lasted a moment and my eyes remained opened wide the entire time, unable to believe what was actually happening. It felt like my brain had checked out by the time he retreated, leaving only one coherent thought.

"You kissed me," I breathed incredulously.

_When had my breathing become so labored?_

Although I was certain that he knew that, I couldn't stop myself from pointing it out. Despite being on the other end of said kiss, I couldn't quite believe it myself.

"Yes, I did," he nodded simply.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"You're not a freak," Dean replied seriously.

I raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief.

"Okay, you are kind of a freak," he conceded. "But not in a bad way."

I frowned, uncertain of how being a freak could ever be considered _good_.

"One minute you're just this...mousy girl...and in the next, you're firing my shotgun at a ghost like a badass," Dean tried to explain, his tone beginning to sound as bewildered as I felt.

I continued to stare at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying to me.

"Look...I'm not good at this emotional crap."

"Obviously," I replied without thinking. "You kissed me. To...make a point?"

I was certain that if I wasn't so shocked, I would feel very angry over that. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Don't try to pretend you didn't enjoy it," Dean smirked, waggling his eyebrows at me as he once again tried to make light of a tense situation with humor.

"You don't kiss people to make a point."

Dean scoffed. "What—would you have rather it been Donald Duck?"

"I didn't—I didn't _need_ anyone to kiss me!"

I was beginning to question whether any of this had been real—this conversation was too ridiculous to actually be happening.

"You're mooning over a vampire—obviously you haven't been kissed enough."

"I'm not—" I broke off, finally registering what he had said a few moments ago. "Donald Duck?" I repeated.

Suddenly, we were both laughing and although I recognized that none of our problems had really been solved, I felt the tension begin to melt away. I could barely stand under the weight of my own giggles and Dean continued to chuckle much the same—our laughter fueling the other's when we tried to calm down.

Although I had been bothered by Dean's distance, I didn't realize how much I had missed this—the banter and laughter. It wasn't until much later that I noticed the Crossroads Demon had gone and I was uncertain of how long we had been alone. I was too emotionally exhausted to give it much thought, though later I would wonder why she had disappeared after warning Dean not to interfere.

I watched Dean dig up the box and tried not to think too much about the kiss or how his fingers brushed mine when he handed me my license.

...

After picking up Sam and receiving a stern talking to for running off—it appeared that Dean had neglected to tell Sam where he had found me, much to my relief—we found ourselves once again sitting at a table in a local diner.

"The Demon must've switched bodies when Donald went to the bathroom," Sam was saying. "There was a call about someone finding a dead body that matched Bella's description in one of the stalls. It's a good thing you left when you did. There were cops swarming the place."

"How's Donny?" I asked, unable to deny my curiosity, though I was a little worried to hear the answer.

"He's fine," Sam assured me. "A little shaken up, but the Demon wasn't in him long enough to cause any lasting damage."

I nodded, absently picking at my food as I thought about the last time I had seen Donald. Although watching him writhe in agony had been terrible, I was beginning to wonder if I had overreacted. After all, though it had been Donald's body twisting in pain, it wasn't really _him_ , right?

"So...the um," I hesitated, "the holy water and the...ritual...they didn't...hurt him?" I asked quietly, already cringing over what the answer might be.

"No," Sam replied gently. "Those only hurt the Demon."

I sighed in relief, feeling my shoulders sag. I realized that part of the reason I had been so bothered by the brothers' actions was due to my own guilt for not trying to stop them. Learning that none of it had actually caused Donald pain was a huge load off of my mind.

I was still worried about Edward—there was no way I couldn't be after tonight—but I hoped that maybe Dean had actually listened to what I said in that clearing. Although the way Edward had left all of those months ago had been very cold, he wasn't evil.

I hadn't gone through with the deal, but perhaps I would have if I hadn't been so thoroughly shocked by Dean's actions. I didn't think so though, not when there was so much uncertainty. Although regaining Edward's loving presence that way had been very tempting, there was a distinct possibility that it would have led to his death if I did.

I remembered the way Laurent had looked—frozen in shock, his gaze the only part of him able to show his horror—as Sam and Dean burned him alive. Staying with the brothers would not only give me a feeling of purpose in my life, but would ensure that I would be present should they ever come across Edward or the Cullens.

...

I sat outside the motel room, leaning against the wall. It felt wonderful to be out of that dress and back into a baggy shirt and pajama pants, though I had to admit that wearing the former hadn't been as bad as I had thought it would be. Although I still preferred casual comfort to formal wear, I think that being the one in control of my outfit had made it a little easier to handle.

I took a deep breath, reflecting over what had happened tonight. As much as it pained me to notice Edward's voice was gone, I recognized that I might have overreacted a bit. It was a staggering realization to come to, but I shouldn't have run off.

I rubbed at my eyes, unsurprised to realize I was crying. I was grateful for the lack of heart-wrenching sobs I was used to in moments like this, though it didn't make the pain feel any less potent. It almost felt like I was losing him again, but not quite.

It was hard to focus on the loss of Edward's voice with the memory of Dean's kiss whirling through my thoughts. I knew that it hadn't meant anything—just a means to an end for him—but I couldn't stop thinking about my reaction.

I was shocked when he had kissed me, but then, I had felt that way with Jacob too. So, why hadn't I reacted the same? Why hadn't I felt overwhelmed by anger the way I had then? What was so different about Dean's kiss than the one Jacob had forced on me?

I stiffened when I heard Dean's door open and quickly wiped away my tears as he emerged. He glanced my way, freezing in surprise when he noticed me sitting there. I stared straight ahead, hoping to hide the fact that I had been crying.

I watched from the corner of my eye as Dean paused, obviously debating something, before seeming to come to some sort of decision. I tried to relax as he moved closer, not wanting him to notice my uneasiness when he sat down beside me.

We were silent for a long moment, before Dean decided to break it.

"What're you doing out here?"

"Getting some air." I flinched at the way my voice cracked. "You?"

"The same," he shrugged.

Silence descended again and I was reminded of the last time I had sat outside a motel room. Sam had been the one to keep me company then and although it had been a little different than this, I was struck with the similarities between them.

Despite how amicable things ended in the clearing, I found myself at a loss of what to say to him now. It was nice to have finally gotten all of those issues off of my chest, but now I was feeling uncomfortable with how much I had revealed.

I was also distinctly aware that he hadn't apologized for his behavior, though I supposed that he might have in his own way. I wasn't going to hold my breath for the actual words, at any rate. Still, it left me unsettled. I didn't know how to feel about what had happened tonight.

Was I relieved that Dean had stopped me from making that deal or disappointed? Would I have really been able to go through with it if he hadn't been there?

"What did you trade your soul for?" I asked, my voice soft.

Dean was quiet for so long that I had given up on receiving an answer when he finally spoke.

"Sam's life."

My head snapped towards him, too shocked to worry about hiding the evidence of my tears with that revelation. Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling loudly.

"He got stabbed. By this...this guy. I was too late. He died. In my arms. So...I made a deal to bring him back."

Dean spoke matter-of-factly, his words almost disjointed as his expression remained stoic.

I felt terrible then, both for the way I had reacted when the Crossroads Demon had mentioned Dean's deal and for my own selfish endeavors to trade my soul. Although my fear over Edward's safety had been part of what prompted me to flee to that clearing, he was right—his situation had been different.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but one look from Dean had me closing it. It was a look that said— _don't_. Although I felt guilty, I think I understood what he meant. He knew that I regretted the things I had said, the same way I knew that he had regretted his behavior toward me. Perhaps we didn't need to say the words.

Still, it felt unsettling to do nothing, so I decided to try something I probably wouldn't have if he hadn't already invaded my space earlier. I patted his shoulder in what I hoped was a comforting gesture, though I think it came across more awkward than anything.

I blushed as Dean quirked an eyebrow at me and quickly removed my hand. I let both my gaze and my hand fall into my lap, clearing my throat in embarrassment, already regretting my attempt at offering comfort.

My gaze snapped to him in surprise when he bumped my shoulder with his, an amused smile quirked on his lips. I found myself smiling back, not quite minding when his shoulder settled fully against mine and remained.

No, my problems hadn't really been solved tonight and I definitely wasn't alright with losing Edward's voice, but I didn't mind letting myself get distracted by Sam and Dean's surprisingly comforting presence.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters:
> 
> -—Dean Winchester  
> -—Sam Winchester  
> -—Bella Swan
> 
> -Victim 1—Johnny Sheafing  
> -Victim 2—Cecile Frost  
> -Victim 3 (Potentially)—Donald Ketting (Don/Donny)  
> -Donald Ketting's Agent—Sandra  
> -Motel Clerk— Diana  
> -Demon—Unknown  
> -Crossroads Demon—Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline:
> 
> March 4th — The Meadow Scene with Laurent
> 
> March 4th-7th — Spokane, Washington
> 
> March 7th-12th — Kennewick, Washington
> 
> March 13th — Rosedale, Mississippi
> 
>  
> 
> Sam and Dean used fake ID's with the names Jimmy Page and Robert Plant in "Bedtime Stories" (Season 3, episode 5).  
> The setting for "Crossroad Blues" (Season 2, episode 8) was in Rosedale, Mississippi, but this is not a rewrite of that episode.


End file.
